Flightless Bird
by AtSundown11
Summary: She was already broken, but not by his doing. And this unsettled him to his core. Ramsay/Sansa. This will follow the show's storyline in the first couple chapters then I'll be taking it in my own direction. Slow burn. Rated M for good reason.
1. Fate

**Author's Note** \- This first chapter will be very short, as I'm just testing the waters. Haven't wrote much in a long time so kinda just want feedback before I take the plunge! This isn't necessarily a Ramsay redemption fic, it's more of him changing not because he wants to, but because Sansa stirs something in him. ;) But I have some serious twists planned if I get far enough! So here's the introduction!

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The sky was dark and the snow heavy. It crunched beneath Sansa's feet as she left the warmth of Winterfell behind. Theon followed her, his hands shaking slightly as he threaded lightly over the snow covered path. He had tried desperately to tame his hair, greasing it back and running a comb through it with barely any success. The comb had almost snapped from the tangles and knots. He wore a nice leather doublet, the flayed man emblem slightly obscured beneath his large fur coat. Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat, playing with her own hands as they slowly made their way to the weirwood tree.

Under normal circumstances, Sansa would think it was a beautiful night and setting for a wedding. Lanterns marked their path, as well as the many footprints from the guests who had come before them. The snow was fluffy and falling down hard, making her red hair stand out far more than usual. The dark hair dye had finally faded and it was braided down her back elegantly.

Her nerves were starting to take over and all Sansa could think of was the man at the end of the path waiting for her. His face had been haunting her since the moment she set her eyes on him. She imagined what he would look like standing in front of the weirwood. Would he have that signature smirk planted smugly on his face? For a second she expected herself to cry. Tears started to well up in her eyes and her vision was blurred. She didn't even notice the path coming to an end.

Here she was once again, being forced into a situation that she had no desire to be in. She knew since she was a little girl that she would ultimately be married off to a lord or the son of a lord. A long time ago she had hoped her husband would be Joffrey. But that desire diminished rather quickly. Then she was married to the Imp, who thankfully didn't force her to do anything she didn't want and was far from cruel.

Now here she was for the third time, being pawned off onto a bastard of the House Bolton. Being legitimized might have changed his last name, but no one easily forgot who his mother was. Some tavern wench, more than likely. The old Sansa would scoff at this arrangement, but the current Sansa could care less of Ramsay's parentage. She instead feared for herself. And with good reason.

Groups of people stood around the red-leaved tree, which was lit up by hundreds of little twinkling lights. The moon shone brightly overheard, causing her to gaze up and take in the sight. It was beautiful, but the scene did the opposite of putting her at ease. Her thoughts went back to the day she was told by Baelish that she was going to marry this mysterious man, Ramsay Bolton.

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 **Author's Note** \- I know there's not much to go on, but I'm already working on the next chapter and it should be up very soon!


	2. The Demons

**Author's Note -** This chapter will basically just show how Sansa felt first arriving in Winterfell up until the night of the wedding. I've had some reviews about having longer chapters and I just wanted to reply to those. It's harder to make them long since I write these on an IPad and I'm very picky about my writing so I spend half my time editing what I've already wrote. I'll definitely make them longer it'll just take some more time to post new chapters! Thank you everyone for the feedback!

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In the beginning, Sansa had no real thoughts on this marriage she was basically being forced into. She had met the man, but feeling trustful of Petyr and also of first impressions, he seemed pleasant enough. He wore a smile, was shorter than her but easily made himself seem taller as he approached her. He reached for her hand and pecked it gently, looking up at her to see her reaction. His light blue eyes were large and inviting and his smile had made her feel a little less intimidated. Roose regarded them silently, his arms crossed and a signature scowl on his face that Sansa would get used to over the coming days. The first day back in Winterfell wasn't the hardest of these days, though.

She was fed almost immediately, and didn't have to engage in awkward conversation with the Boltons until the next morning. Her handmaidens were quiet but showed respect and made her feel welcome enough. That night while lying wide awake in her childhood bed, she thought of the last time she had slept there. Which was also the last night she had slept peacefully and without fear of nightmares. This was because she had her family all alive and well that night, and things weren't that bad, no matter what she thought back then. These thoughts kept her awake until pure exhaustion from her journey took hold.

Only a couple hours of nightmare riddled sleep, and her eyes flicked open as she heard the door creak. One of her handmaidens had walked in, and started to tend to the fire. Sansa arose slowly, feeling a headache start to form in her temples. "My lady, the Boltons would like for you to join them for breakfast." These words caused Sansa to groan, but not too audibly. She was hoping to maybe be able to get back to sleep after soaking in the hot bath that the maid was now drawing, but that hope diminished quickly.

She was dressed in mere minutes after her short bath. The grime from the trip was wiped off and perfumed oils were rubbed on her skin, and she put on the first dress that she saw, not caring to pick out another from her wardrobe. She wasn't trying to impress anyone really, her fate was already sealed. Did it matter if Ramsay even liked her?

The breakfast was quiet as forks and spoons clanked around, an occasional cough from Roose or a comment about the quality of the food from Walda. Ramsay had greeted Sansa but didn't speak much at first, only smiling at her occasionally and eating his food as if it was his first meal in months. It was only towards the end of the meal that Sansa saw Theon. He was trying to hide in the corner of the room, carrying a platter with more bread. But Ramsay had only to clear his throat and he was at his side.

His head was down in a mixture of shame and embarrassment. Sansa gulped and stared at him, taking in the broken man. She felt many different emotions in that moment. Anger, pity, and a deep sadness that made her feel nauseated. Theon wasn't her kin, nor was he deserving of any kindness from her, but it was still so hard to look at him.

He had lost a tremendous amount of weight. His cheeks were sunken in, dirt and grime covered him head to toe, his hair was greasy and the smell he gave off was so strong Sansa wanted to desperately cover her nose with her napkin. But she sat almost frozen, now refusing to look at him at all. Ramsay himself was pleased by this reaction.

"Reek, aren't you going to greet lady Sansa?" Ramsay asked, drumming his fingers against the edge of the table. Theon kept his head down and began to stutter.

"My l-l-lady Sansa.." He bowed his head, keeping his eyes planted firmly on the ground

"Now Reek, this must be terribly awkward for you since you killed her little brothers. Oh but we've punished you for that, haven't we?" Ramsay's voice was almost gleeful. Sansa looked at him and realized in that moment that first impressions really were not always accurate. Theon grasped at the bottom of his shirt as if to keep his hands from shaking.

Sansa wanted desperately to escape this situation. Roose seemed completely unbothered by what was happening in front of him, still eating heartily. Walda had stopped eating but kept her eyes on her plate, discomfort clearly displayed on her red face. "Apologize to her. Tell her how terribly sorry you are for burning her little brothers, and hanging them above the gates for all of Winterfell to see. I'm sure she'd appreciate it." Ramsay was now smiling, as if he was playing a card game and had a very good hand.

Sansa stayed quiet. She hardly heard Theon's voice as he apologized. He sounded so pitiful, so fearful. She wished that she had never come back. It didn't feel like her home anymore, it felt unfamiliar and empty, full of strangers and there was a darkness that seemed to surround her till she was overwhelmed completely.

"Ramsay, your pet is starting to stink up the room. Send him away," Roose demanded as he finished his last bite of bread. Sansa felt thankful for this but had lost her appetite. Soon she was back in her room, lying in her bed, silent tears streaming down her pale face.

A certain fear had been planted that day as she finally realized what her intended bethrothed was. His light eyes suddenly seemed darker, his kind smile turned condescending, and his touch now felt like fire against her skin. In the next couple days, Ramsay didn't pay much attention to her, he only spoke to her when he had to and this indifference bothered her most of all. He was a man that showed very few emotions, and his presence captivated people in a way Sansa didn't understand. They obviously feared him, but they also had a certain respect that kept his soldiers and servants loyal. But who could respect a man that so easily broke the once arrogant Theon Greyjoy?

Roose was cold and calculating, his mind only on war and politics. She never once saw him smile or even laugh, but he was very consistent. She didn't have to think about what she was going to say in his presence, while his son made her mad with her thoughts. What if she spoke the wrong words? What if he got bored of her? Would he punish her as he punished Theon?

These thoughts grew worse over time, manifesting themselves into something else entirely. Ramsay wasn't a patient or understanding man. Whether he noticed or not, she had been watching him. Listening in as he cursed and screamed at servants for giving him cold meat. Threatening to kill them and their families just for the sake of his own amusement. Sometimes he would go out to hunt, but when he returned with his hounds, splattered with blood and without game, Sansa could only imagine what he had been doing. Though she had a talent for holding in her thoughts and emotions, she felt that she would eventually fall out of routine once she was his wife. What would happen then?

It felt like years as she waited for the day that she would be married to yet another monster. She started to sleep in till almost midday, using sickness as an excuse to miss breakfast. Her room felt like a prison cell, though she voluntarily never left. Days spent in her room brought on the demons from her past. They clawed their way from the depths of her mind and all of a sudden, she was lost in her terrible memories. Memories of Joffrey, and her father's head on a spike. She saw Ilyn Payne as he brought down his sword against flesh and bone. She heard the crowd as they cheered and begged for blood.

Maybe she'd never escape this dreadful fate that seemed to be laid out for her. She'd have to marry Ramsay Bolton, and forever she'd be confined to his cruelty and his abuse. But deep down inside, she secretly felt like she deserved it.


	3. Jewel of The North

Sansa knew she was nearing the end of the path once she saw the red leaves of the weirwood tree. Her heart seemed to come to a complete stop. She knew she was putting on a convincing face, but inside she felt terrified. Thinking to herself in that moment, she realized she had grown familiar to the feeling of fear.

Guards and guests stood on the side of the path, eerily quiet as they watched Sansa walk carefully over the snow. Ramsay also watched her with a look she couldn't decipher. He seemed pleased, yet looked distant, as if his mind was elsewhere.

The ceremony was traditional, and for a second Sansa paused when it was her turn to say her vows. Ramsay's eyes seemed to pierce through her as she opened her mouth but no words came out. She finally spoke, "I take this man." Her mouth was very dry. Ramsay smirked and Sansa felt sick, but also relieved that it was finally over.

Theon had kept his head bowed the whole time. He couldn't bear to even think about what Ramsay was going to do to poor Sansa. She was his sister. Though their blood was not shared, he felt a terrible ache in his heart at the idea of her being hurt. Once the guests had departed, Roose took Ramsay aside, glancing quickly at Sansa and making sure she was out of earshot.

"We need this Ramsay, the rest of the North won't be very pleased if they've heard that precious Sansa Stark is being mistreated in anyway." He said seriously, glaring down at his son. Ramsay nodded and looked back towards his new wife. She looked so fragile, pale as the snow, and her hair as red as fire.

"She's my wife now father, I'd never harm her." As Ramsay said this, Roose found himself pitying the girl. Ramsay wasn't a very good listener, nor did he take kindly to being told what to do. Roose gave his son one last lingering look of warning then left immediately, disappearing down the sloped path. A couple of guards waited for Ramsay and Sansa to start walking back, standing tall and clutching their spears. Ramsay offered her his arm, but was silent. She took it hesitantly and swallowed hard. Theon paused and watched as they walked back towards the castle, then after a moment he reluctantly followed them.

Sansa entered the room fearing the worst. The worst being different obsessive thoughts that were filling her head over the past few days. She felt herself start to shake but before he could notice or comment she gripped onto the headboard of the bed. She refused to turn around and look this man in the eyes, this man who just moments ago became her husband. Marriage seemed so pointless now. This was the third man she was promised to, second ceremony she had spoke those fate sealing words at, and the first man who would make love to her. But she knew it wouldn't be even close to making love. It would be the farthest thing from it.

Fear rooted her to the spot by the bed. She felt like she was going to fall over, and something occurred to her. She had to pull herself together. Ramsay was the kind of man to feed off her fear. If she kept being weak, he'd break her down till she was a shell of the person she used to be.

She felt a hand glide from the small of her back all the way up to her shoulder. He gave it a squeeze, not as hard as was expected. She finally turned to face him, the physical contact breaking her from her thoughts.

He didn't speak but gazed at her, his icey eyes causing her heart to beat loudly against her chest. She could feel it pulsating in her head and she was starting to feel dizzy again. She took a small moment to examine his face, trying still to pull herself together. Being this way would just make him angry.

His dark curly hair had just been trimmed but a few curls still swept over his forehead. His lips were dry from being out in the cold air, and he wetted them compulsively. Normally he would have a smirk planted on his face, but his stare was unfamiliar to her and this made her uneasy. She broke eye contact and looked to the floor. The silence was uncomfortable and so was the shadow of Theon standing outside the door.

"Close the door and leave us." His bold voice stilled her madly beating heart, causing a small gasp to escape her throat. Theon hesitated slightly but all the same reached for the knob, trying to keep himself out of view, and closed the door soundlessly.

Ramsay knew she was scared, he could almost feel the fear radiating off her. It was so evident, he wondered if she was even trying to hide it. He was used to this. He gave this feeling to everyone around him. It was almost as if she was battling with herself internally, her eyes staring at a spot on the floor. He felt a little annoyed but didn't show it.

"You can sit." He didn't demand this of her, but she moved away from him as soon as the words left his mouth and sat on the edge of the bed. The furs were new and soft and he watched with interest as she grabbed onto them almost in a loving kind of way.

Ramsay took a small step back and moved to the other side of the room, noticing the wine that was left on the table from earlier. He began to pour himself a cup when he heard her shift on the bed. She was still facing away from him, but had relaxed a little bit. He suddenly felt very bored and irritated, Ramsay had always been a peculiar person. A physopath, a sociopath, and almost completely mad. But he was going over the short conversation with his father before departing from the weirwood, thinking hard on his words.

He didn't always listen to his father, especially when it came to women, but he knew Roose was right. There would be consequences to acting out his devious thoughts, more so because Sansa was the jewel of the North. He finally emptied the wine into his cup and took a small drink, letting the taste overwhelm his mouth.

Looking over at the figure of his wife, he felt angry at his predicament. A brand new toy that he couldn't even play with. A small sound reached his ears and when he realized it came from her he put his cup down. He approached her slowly and her body stilled from the quakes of her sobs. When he finally stood infront of her she was wiping away at her eyes.

"My wife.." He caught himself before speaking, stopping mid sentence to realize he was about to try and comfort her. He wasn't a comforting person, and this threw him off a bit. "You look tired, and I have some things that need attending to. I'll let you sleep."

He bowed, leaving without any reply from her. Sansa felt herself immediately relaxing. Theon looked in almost confused, and reached to close the door again. When he finally did Sansa felt the calm return fully to her body.

She felt herself waiting for him to return as she laid back on the bed. All she could do was try and pinpoint why he had left, and what he was going to do when he returned. But she slowly drifted off to sleep, too exhausted to even be fearful anymore.

Sansa awoke early the next morning. She felt peaceful as she turned in the fur and stretched out her arms. When she opened her eyes and realized she wasn't in her room, the memories of the night before became rushing back. She shot up out of the warmth of the covers and looked around the room. There was no sign of Ramsay and this was a sweet relief.

Suddenly her door opened and a unfamiliar handmaiden walked in. She had dark hair and a very petite body. She didn't speak but instead seemed to be looking for something. After a couple of seconds and with no success, she smiled brightly and curtsied. "I'm Myranda, my lady."

Sansa didn't reply, but forced a smile. rubbing her stiff arms. Myranda opened the nearby curtain and began to draw her a bath. Thinking to herself, Sansa looked over at the other side of the bed. Last night was unexpected. Ramsay was obviously cruel, Sansa had figured this out not even a week after first arriving. She had heard a couple of her handmaidens whispering about shrill screams coming from his bedroom, presumably an unfortunate girl from the village.

Naturally, Sansa pictured all the things he would do to her on her wedding night, but he didn't even stay in the room for more than a couple minutes. She took a deep breath and felt better at the fact that they were not yet technically married, because the marriage wasn't consummated. They had skipped a feast just for the reason that Roose wanted them to consummate before Ramsay could do anything to ruin it.

The new handmaiden began to hum casually, and Sansa stood and began to undress. "The wedding was beautiful my lady, you looked even more so." Myranda said cheekily, grinning in a kind of smug way. Sansa furrowed her eyebrows before stepping into the hot water. "Why haven't you tended to me before me?" She asked, sighing contently at the feeling of the water soothing her muscles and warming her skin.

Myranda paused, and Sansa didn't see the glint in her eyes as she began to explain. "Hannah disappeared last night, poor girl. It happened right after your wedding ceremony, very curious." Sansa stiffened in the water as Myranda ran her hands through her hair.

"What do you think happened to her?" Sansa asked, trying to ignore the feeling that creeped its way into her gut. "Oh it could have been many things. Maybe she went on a walk and was attacked by wolves. Or she got lost and is now trying to find her way back. But you shouldn't think of such things my lady."

It was too late, Sansa was most definitely thinking of such things, and actually had been for many years. She had become quite pessimistic. Myranda continued to hum for the duration of the bath, while Sansa thought of Ramsay's hasty departure last night and wondered if it tied into Hannah's disappearance.

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Ramsay awoke with a throbbing headache. He was sitting in the chair from his office, his head slumped over onto his desk. He groaned and wasn't sure where he was at first. He lifted his head and tried to ignore the pain of opening his eyes. The first thing he noticed was the blood and dirt caked on his hands. He was still wearing his clothes from the wedding but they were completely ruined. The bottoms of his pants were shredded, and more blood stained his doublet and sleeves. He looked around but couldn't find his cloak, sighing loudly.

"Seven bloody hells." He put his palm to his forehead, trying to ease the pain of his aching head. He moved to stand up, and kicked over a flagon that was placed haphazardly on the ground right next to his feet. That certainly explained the headache. He was confused at first as to why he wasn't in bed, then he remembered the previous night. The memories came back quickly, almost like when you caught a certain scent that reminded you of a certain moment in time.

After leaving his room and his new wife, he had went to the kitchens and rooted around till he found the best Dornish wine they had. He closed himself in the library, busying his mind with the many tomes and maps while he drank heartily from the simple flagon. He stumbled out of the library late in the night, and that's when he noticed the blonde handmaiden Hannah. She was in her bed clothes and looked as if she was hiding something behind her skirts.

Ramsay caught her stealing extra cakes from the kitchen, and felt like it was a perfect time for them to play a game. She had squealed and begged as he dragged her outside the gates, a lantern in his hand. The guards looked at each other before turning their backs to the scene. The few awake peasants went inside their houses and locked their doors, closing their curtains quickly as to get rid of any feelings of guilt. He remembered draining the rest of the flagon and throwing it upon the ground right on the edge of the forest. "Please my lord, please! I beg of you! Don't hurt me! I'll never steal again, I swear it by the old gods!"

Her whining only infuriated him. He took her by her hair and pulled. "Stop your incessant squealing you little bitch." Ramsay had started to spin, his stomach turning again and again. He felt so angry in that moment. He looked at Hannah and squinted his eyes. The lantern was glowing brightly onto her hair, making it almost look the color of the flames themselves. Red. He began to think of Sansa, probably soundly asleep in his bed, making him feel like a fool almost instantly.

Hannah was crying, cowering in his grip. Ramsay gritted his teeth and let go of her hair. Before she could react he had landed his fist against her jaw. He swore he could hear it crack. It was rare that Ramsay did much damage to women in this manner. He normally had his way with them sexually before letting his hounds do the dirty work. But here he was, breaking in this girls' face, bloody drunk but at the same time fully aware of his actions.

He left her there after she was unrecognizable, blood staining his clothes and skin. He demanded the guards take care of the body, and they said nothing, following the spots of blood that made a path to Hannah's body.

Ramsay remembered all this and didn't feel the same satisfaction he normally did. He felt indifferent, but at the same time sick. He blamed this on all the wine. Sitting back in his chair he clenched his fists.

Things didn't go as planned, and he couldn't figure out how Sansa Stark was worming her way into his brain without any effort on her part. Was it that permanent look of sadness on her face? Or the fire that was in her eyes whenever her family was mentioned? He wondered to himself how that fire would spread once he got his claws into her. He would break her, he had to break her, or he'd never get her out of his head again.

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 **Author's Note** \- So I wanted to explain some things. Sansa isn't always going to be so weak and sad. I'm trying to develop her into a stronger character over time and Ramsay will be apart of that transformation whether he means to be or not. And I warned that this isn't going to a fluffy fic, because well it's Ramsay Bolton. He's confused by Sansa because he didn't feel the impulse to hurt her and blames it on wanting to bring honor to his family. So at the end of the chapter he's decided to ignore all that, because he can't stand the thought of a woman getting into his head. Just wanted to clarify incase it read as confusing. If it is let me know and I will get to editing it more thoroughly! Review please :)


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